Well Worn
by Msynergy
Summary: The t-shirt was threadbare, the bold letters emblazoned across its front cracked and disintegrating, and she wouldn't throw it away for the world.


_Well-Worn_

Disclaimer: I wish, but no, don't own the characters/show.

Author's Note: A bit longer of a ditty this time.

The t-shirt was threadbare, the bold letters emblazoned across its front cracked and disintegrating, and she wouldn't throw it away for the world.

After "dying," she hadn't even had the clothes on her back. The shirt had been among the items she'd been given while in recovery, baggy and soft against hurting skin. When she'd fully recovered by protocol said shirt should have been incinerated with everything else, leaving no trace, but she'd held on to it, refused to part with it even at the risk of exposure. She'd lost everything else, everyone else, she couldn't lose this one thing too, however unsubstantial it might be to anyone else.

She wore that same shirt to bed every night she was in hiding, and continued the ritual well into her re-entrance into the world of the living.

JJ is the first to see this routine one night twenty-five miles from the middle of nowhere in a freeway town so small that Emily still can't believe they actually have a motel. A motel straight out of a Hitchcock film, with, of course, a limited number of rooms.

It's for this very reason that she finds herself bunking with JJ, not an uncommon occurrence, and she'd much rather put up with JJ over Morgan or Reid, both of whom happened to be sharing another room next door. She hadn't heard any heavy objects being thrown against walls yet, but the night was still young.

She snorted at the thought, before pulling her favorite shirt out from her bag along with her toiletries and heading for the bathroom. JJ was busying talking with Will and Henry, but she felt the other woman's eyes track her movements and tried her best to ignore it. She had never been self-conscious about her body before, but now she had more to conceal than just how much weight she'd lost since being gone. She knew that JJ knew what had been done to her at the hands of Doyle, that she'd read the medical reports, but to allow another to physically see those scars besides herself or her doctor was just beyond her comprehension at the moment.

Shirt and shorts safely on, face washed and teeth brushed, she exited the bathroom as nonchalantly as possible, but still felt JJ's eyes following her. She turned to face her blonde companion, ready to make a crack about old war wounds to break the tension, but stood puzzled as she realized that JJ's eyes were not on her body itself, but the shirt she wore.

"JJ?"

"When did you get that shirt?" she asked suddenly, motioning to the faded print that still was somewhat readable as "FBI." It occurred to Emily that all her clothing was new now; all her old belongings for the sake of cementing her demise had been donated. All of her important possessions, pictures, trinkets etc., had been stored thanks to Hotch and JJ, but otherwise she'd had to start fresh.

"Um, I got it when I was recovering, why?"

If anything, JJ's frown only got bigger.

"You know I hear if you make that face long enough it'll get stuck that way?"

And apparently she wasn't in the mood for bad jokes, Emily thought ruefully. And she was too tired to play twenty questions.

"Honestly, JJ, what is it? I'm grasping at straws here."

"Emily, whatever clothing you were given wasn't supposed to have any insignia on it. It would be too easy to connect the dots if there were."

The thought had occurred to her, but then she hadn't been at her most stable emotionally at the time either. All her little compartmentalizing boxes had been blown to smithereens, and the shirt she now wore had been a painful reminder, but as well as one last connection to the life, to the family, she'd left behind.

"Well, I got it somehow, JJ. I remember thinking that someone must have just thrown something together last minute for me, and this was all there was. Either way I didn't care, I needed it, especially after everything that'd happened. I needed to remember."

JJ only nodded, obviously lost in thought.

"JJ? What aren't you telling me?"

"Emily, the decision may have been signed off by higher ups but all the overseeing was done by either Hotch or myself. The fewer that were involved the better; you know that. But the thing is, Hotch put himself in charge of all your recovery requirements, I never interfered because I knew he needed to do that for you, to make sure you were okay."

The realization hit her like a freight train. If Hotch had been in charge then Hotch had given her the shirt, however indirectly. But-

"Why? Why would he do that?"

This time JJ smiled, bittersweet.

"Because he didn't want you to forget either."

And suddenly her little piece of home had even more meaning.

JJ didn't question her as she headed for the door, barefoot and wearing only a well-worn t-shirt and pajama shorts in close to freezing weather as she walked the steps necessary to knock on a certain door.

He swiftly answered her knock, she knew it would be him because he would have chosen the bed closest to the exit, ever ready for trouble should it arise. Which was what his expression seemed prepared for as he took in her less than professional appearance, concern in his eyes and a question on his lips as she pounced, arms wrapping around his neck tightly as she stood on the balls of her feet to maintain the hold. She was tall in her own right, and her heeled boots helped her meet his eye normally, but these were not normal circumstances.

As if to prove this, his arms came around her automatically, but awkwardly, and she almost laughed before tightening her hold and then releasing him.

While not usually a man of many words except those that needed to be said, as his mouth opened and no words came out she couldn't help but smile. She actually had hugged Hotch speechless, and as she caught the gaze of an amused Rossi watching from behind, her smile only grew wider.

"Prentiss, what-"

Though apparently his ability to speak was coming back again fast.

"Thank you, Hotch."

At first he looked even more confused, but then his eyes shifted to exactly what she was wearing and if she didn't know any better she would say he actually blushed, caught in an act he never thought he'd have to admit to, much less accept thanks for.

"You're welcome," he mumbled, more out of etiquette than meaning, always the gentleman.

"Alright, well, good night. Night Dave!" she said then called, Rossi nodding with his own wave as she promptly left for her own room.

JJ, it seemed, had also been watching as she stood there grinning from their door.

Once both were inside with the deadbolt firmly in place, she was moving towards her bed with anticipation when JJ stopped her.

"For a minute there I thought I was going to be sharing a room with Rossi for the night. You should have seen the look on his face when you-"

Anything JJ might have said beyond that was quickly snuffed out by the precise aim of a pillow to the face.


End file.
